


Do Your Part To Save The Scene And Stop Going To Shows

by speccygeekgrrl



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-06
Updated: 2009-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:38:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zane Taylor's band does a show in New York City. Sparks fly when he meets the drummer from another band.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Your Part To Save The Scene And Stop Going To Shows

**Author's Note:**

> Zane Taylor was the redheaded guy who could make things melt. Trevor Zeitlan was the dude with the gun finger who interrupted Gabriel and Elle's ziti night. And now you know!

Zane doesn't mind going on tour-- it's nice to get out of Virginia Beach, away from his crappy minimum-wage job and his mother's daily phone calls, away from the people he's known since elementary school smirking when they go through his checkout line-- but he really, really doesn't like New York City. Any place around it, he's fine. Long Island, Newark, wherever they can get to on the LIRR with their instruments strapped to their backs or dragged along on wheeled luggage, okay... but when Art tells him that Godsend's next gig is some club in the Village, Zane goes tense and can't relax until he's knocking back shots at the bar before their set starts.

"Hey, leave some for the rest of us," he hears, and half-turns to see some stringy guy with chin-length black hair and heavily outlined eyes leaning on the bar next to him. "Oh, dude, you're the bassist from Godsend, aren't you?"

"You know my band?" Zane asks blankly, staring. The guy is wearing the same t-shirt that Zane is, the iconic Ramones logo, and he smirks when Zane notices.

"Well, your band is backstage wondering where the fuck you are. But yeah, I've seen you play a few times. Zane, right?" A pale, bony hand is thrust in front of him; Zane takes it reflexively but doesn't shake. "I'm Trevor. I drum for Eclipse, we're on after you today."

"Oh, right, right." Zane cocks his head, squints at Trevor, then grins. "Oh yeah. Last time I saw you guys play, you looked more..."

"White-bread and wholesome?" Trevor guesses, laughing. He rubs the stubble on his jaw like he's still getting used to it. "Yeah, well, fresh-faced and blond is no way to go through a metal life." Disengaging his hand from Zane's, Trevor steals the last full shot from Zane's lineup and nudges the pudgy bassist toward the stage. "You guys are on in like ten. If you wanna wait for me after the show..."

Zane stares as Trevor takes the shot and licks the rim of the shotglass, then grins. "Yeah, I'll-- I'll see you later, Trevor." The liquor burns through his muscles as he walks away from the bar, but the implications of Trevor's invitation burn hotter, fiercer, and far more localized than the alcohol ever could.

\---

Zane almost forgets how much he dislikes walking through NYC at night, distracted by Trevor's hand in his back pocket, guiding him with little squeezes while he talks about the local scene, the shitty high school bands trying to make it, the washed-up wannabes still trying to rock into their 40s, how cool it is to get a band like Godsend coming through his own neighborhood venue. Trevor presses Zane against the door when he unlocks it, first the outside door and then the one to his apartment, never straying from inside Zane's personal space. The older man is almost surprised at how much he likes that.

As soon as the door clunks shut behind them and Trevor reaches back to slide the bolt locked, their eyes meet. Whatever Trevor sees in Zane's, his eyes light up in response, and he steps in again to herd Zane against the wall, pressing a skinny thigh between Zane's meatier ones. "This is why you're here, right?" he asks rhetorically, not giving Zane a chance to answer before biting his lower lip hard, kissing him like a back-alley mugging, all sudden violence and the freefall feeling of being on the edge of something life-changing.

They both smell like what they are, musicians post-show, sweat and booze and cigarettes, and Zane lets himself be swept along on the tidal wave of Trevor's plans: stripped and shoved, pinched and fondled, shown into the bedroom while an evil tongue rasps salt and heat from the freckles on his back. "Holy shit," Zane gasps when Trevor pulls away his boxers and lays a solid slap on the plush curve of Zane's butt; he's aching hard now, cock jumping at the impact with jolt of pleasure.

"That's fucking hot," Trevor says admiringly, manhandling Zane's ass in a way that the older man never even considered he could enjoy. This kid is rough, dirty, overwhelming, and Zane is more than willing to let himself be pushed face down on the bed. "Let me tie you up?"

"Not so much." Ah, there's his limit, he knew he had one somewhere. "But I'll stay still..."

"Good enough," Trevor says, and bites a line of bruises down Zane's spine, sucking hard enough to leave marks for days, his dull nails digging into the soft flesh of Zane's thighs. Zane tenses a little when Trevor pulls his asscheeks apart, but the unexpected drag of a tongue from the back of his balls all the way to the small of his back melts the tension right out of him.

"Fuck, what are you doing to me," he groans, and Trevor smacks his ass again when he pulls back.

"Whatever I fucking want to," the answer comes, Trevor's voice brash but almost cautious, like he's thinking _oh shit, what happens when I push him too far?_ Zane's not about to tell him to stop.

"Okay, okay-- your fucking mouth, Jesus!" Zane is pretty sure that he could come just from Trevor doing this, burying his narrow face between Zane's cheeks and licking extravagantly, stubble rasping untouched skin and tongue finding its unhurried way to push against Zane's asshole. "Oh my god, god, you're so filthy, don't stop!"

Of course, that's when Trevor does stop, laughing and pressing his forehead against Zane's back. "I wanna fuck you."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." His knees slide wider, and when Trevor slaps his ass again Zane moans, hips lifting into the contact.

"Your ass is so great," Trevor tells him fervently, and Zane is so distracted by unevenly timed spanks and how they burn his skin that he howls when Trevor forces two lubed-up fingers into him. "Shit, Zane, keep doing that." Zane does, turning his head so every groan and whimper is audible, stuttered half-words and broken sounds while Trevor fingers him open, stretches him out.

Between breaths, Trevor's fingers disappear and Zane hears the quiet tear of a condom packet; his whole body shivers in anticipation. "Fuck me hard," he demands, one hand stealing up to curl around himself. "Hard and fast."

"Fuckin' a right," Trevor says, his voice an unsteady thing, but he pauses with the head of his dick pressed right up against Zane, a breath away from pushing in and giving them both what they want. "Don't go away when we're done." For one second he sounds so young, and Zane's breath catches; then it's like it never happened, Trevor shoves into him sudden and deep and burning, better than liquor, better than the perfect rise and fall of fierce pumping chords, better than any rush of applause.

There's no hesitation now, no pauses, no room for breath or thought, just sweat and pressure and the slick width of Trevor's cock dragging in and out, a simple frantic 4/4 rhythm. Trevor's drumstick-calloused hand pushes Zane's hand away and starts to jack him in counterpoint (one _and_ two _and_ one _and_ two) and Zane is groaning, caught between the utterly stuffed feeling of Trevor deep in him and the sweet tight grasp of Trevor's hand. Trevor swears low and constant, "fuck yes so fucking tight, shit, Zane, take it, goddammit," only shutting up when he leans in to mold his skinny body against Zane's broad back and sink his teeth into the meat of Zane's shoulder.

That's what it takes to throw Zane headlong over the edge, one last stab of Trevor in him and that hard bite setting an electric current down his spine and straight out his cock, shooting off hard onto Trevor's fingers and his bedsheets. "Holy fuck, Zane," Trevor cries, jamming deep into him and coming a moment later, hips twitching well after the last pulse of spunk fills the condom, his breath coming hard and chilling the sweat on Zane's back.

It doesn't take long for Zane to become uncomfortable, held against the soiled sheets by Trevor's not-that-unbearable weight. "Hey, you better not be asleep," he warns, reassured by Trevor's immediate chuckle.

"No, not a chance." He pulls out, rolls off Zane's back lazily; his eyeliner is smudged, pale cheeks gone red, pink lips still parted with heavy breath. "Look, you wanna catch a shower, get some pizza, maybe watch Family Guy or something?"

"Rock on," Zane says, and follows Trevor into the bathroom with plans of seeing how that skinny ass reacts to a good slap or two.


End file.
